Stranger than Fiction
by creativetherapy
Summary: The team is sent to Galveston, Texas to investigate an elaborately staged double homicide. As pieces come together, they learn that sometimes truth is, in fact, stranger than fiction. Meanwhile Reid makes plans that involve Garcia. A continuation of the arc established in my first three fics "Coincidence", "Way Out", and "Aesop". Whole team, heavy on Reid and Garcia. Please R/R
1. Chapter 1

"Big plans for the weekend?" Agent Derek Morgan asked Jennifer Jareau as they walked through the hall, each carrying small cardboard flats filled with cardboard coffee cups.

"Will's _finally_ got a weekend off." J.J answered.

"Alright." Derek teased. "So a little _alone_ time, then?"

"Taking Henry apple-picking and shopping for a Halloween costume." J.J responded dryly, pushing open the door to the BAU bull pen.

"Look who I ran into." J.J said to Spencer Reid and David Rossi, who sat talking quietly to one another at Spencer's desk.

"Brought you coffee." Derek indicated the cardboard flat, which he set on a desk, picking the cups out of their holders and distributing them. "Hey, Reid, how's Avery doin'?"

"Uh, good." Spencer nodded. "She's seeing her therapist less and the nightmares seemed to have stopped, for the most part."

"How d'you like living with her?" Derek asked. Spencer cocked his head to the side in confusion. "J.J told me." Derek confessed.

Spencer looked over his shoulder to J.J, who simply shrugged.

"It's fine." He thought a moment. "She keeps forgetting where she put her keys." He said seriously, looking to Derek as though he should understand the doctor's confusion and annoyance.

Derek tried not to grin and J.J stifled a laugh. "Yeah, well," she said in a tone of overdone empathy "Well, bare with it. Living with someone can be a _big_ adjustment."

"What ho, Crime fighters?" Garcia chirped, joining the team at the desk, a stack of folders in her hands. "Ooh, coffee! Did you bring me some?"

"No, I did not." Derek said "Because I brought you something better."

"Oooh!" Garcia wiggled with excitement as she took the cup from Morgan and lifted the travel lid.

"Hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon." Derek informed her.

"Just how I like my men." She looked at him meaningfully.

"Careful," Derek warned. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Garcia just laughed. Aaron Hotchner appeared in the doorway, glancing to the others as he headed into the conference room.

"That's right." Garcia said in response, holding up the folders in her hand. "There will be time for our steamy love affair, but it is not right now. You've got a case."

The team filed into the conference room, J.J handing Hotchner a cup of coffee before taking her seat. Penelope Garcia was last into the room.

"Pack your bags, adventurers. You're going to Galveston, Texas." She announced, taking her place at one end of the table.

"What's in Galveston?" Derek asked.

"Aside from, I assume, a whole lot of barbeque and republicans? A double homicide." Garcia continued "Three days ago, 36 year old Juan Vasquez and 27 year old Amelia Hope were found murdered in an apartment building that was under construction. Workers found them. Both poisoned, though Hope also had a gunshot wound to the abdomen."

"Poison, that's unusual," Derek said "But why are we being called in for a double homicide?"

"The staging." Hotchner responded. "The scene was elaborately staged."

"How elaborately?" J.J asked.

"The unsub painted the room."

Rossi raised his eyebrows.

Garcia nodded, pressing a key on her computer and casting images of the crime scene onto the screen behind her.. "Both families failed to identify the clothes Vasquez and Hope were wearing, leading P.D to believe they were redressed. Also... well, see for yourself."

The staging was obvious and extensive. The couple, strangers in life, lay intimately intertwined. Both were well dressed and clean. Hope's ashy blonde hair and makeup were styled immaculately. The walls of the room had been painted a vivid teal.

"I know." Said Garcia uneasily. "Weird. Also weird is the fact that local P.D can find no connection between Juan Vasquez and Amelia Hope. Nothing that would indicate they had any kind of personal relationship, or even knew each other."

"With that amount of staging," J.J said, blown away as she read through the case reports sent up from Texas "do we think the unsub's playing out a fantasy?"

"We'll find out." Hotchner said. "Wheels up in thirty."

Gradually, the team filed out of the room, each to their own desk to call loved ones, cancel appointments, and otherwise get ready to leave. Spencer rose from his chair, crossing around the desk to Garcia.

"Garcia," he began tentatively. She looked up.

"Can you do something for me?" He asked "And don't tell the others?"


	2. Major Obsession

On board the BAU plane, the team re-read the dossiers, scanning the information again and again for any clue as to the mindset of the killer.

"Well, we know he's meticulous." J.J said.

"How do we know it's a he?" Spencer asked "Relatively speaking, poison is a passive method of killing. It's typically used by women."

"The murders cross gender and race – it doesn't seem like the unsub has a type." J.J noted.

"But with this level of organization," Derek said "I'm willing to bet these weren't just random killings."

"Something about them filled a need for the killer." Rossi finished.

"Garcia," Hotchner looked to the tablet, set on the table between the agents. Penelope Garcia looked back via webcam. "I want you to dig into Juan Vasquez' and Amelia Hope's pasts. See if you can find any connection between them the local P.D would have missed."

"Can do, Sir." Garcia confirmed.

"There's not a lot of blood..." Spencer noticed, looking over the crime scene photos. He flipped through some of the other papers on the table, finding the one he needed and glancing at it briefly. "The ME report says the gunshot wound was administered post mortem."

"So she was poisoned, _then_ shot." J.J reiterated.

"The gunshot was another aspect of the staging." Hotchner said.

"I dunno," Morgan leaned back in his seat. "It almost feels like this is more about the staging than the murder."

"Somebody who goes to these lengths to leave a crime scene looking like that _has_ to have some serious obsessions." Rossi looked to Hotchner. "The killer took time, planning every detail. This could have taken weeks to pull off."

"Then let's hope that means we have more time to catch whoever did this." Hotchner said. "Someone who spends so much time thinking about killing and goes this far to stage every detail won't hesitate to do it again."


	3. Tea Dress

The sun beat down on the air strip as the team exited the jet. Even in October, it was humid. A team of cars awaited their arrival.

"You must be Chief Callahan." Hotchner extended his hand to a man in uniform standing beside one of the cars. "Agent Aaron Hotchner, BAU."

"Thanks for comin' out." The police chief took Hotchner's hand in a firm handshake. "We appreciate the help."

Callahan looked around at the team. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it you'll have to wait a bit to get settled. Got a call in about twenty minutes ago – coupl'a fishermen found another body."

"What makes you think it's connected?" Hotchner asked.

"She was posed – sittin' up in a dinghy out on the bay."

Hotch nodded. "Let's check it out."

The bay was only a short distance from the airport. A breeze blew off the water. Boats docked along the marina. Others slipped through the water, some coming in, others going out. A crowd of police officers, CSI technicians and media gathered near one of the piers. As the team drew closer, they could see a small dinghy bobbing in the water. In it, a young woman sat, dressed in an airy white dress, her hands crossed gently in her lap.

As with Amelia Hope, this victim had also had her hair and makeup meticulously done. Around her waist, a swath of fabric secured her to a board, which had then been fastened to the bottom of the boat, to ensure she remained sitting.

"She was found here?" Hotchner asked one of the technicians on the scene. The CSI shook his head.

"Out there." He said, indicating a ways out into the bay. "Couple of fishermen passed her on their way out."

"Are they still here?" Hotchner asked. The technician nodded in the direction of two men who stood speaking with one of the officers.

"Morgan, go talk to the men who found her." Hotchner ordered. Derek nodded, crossing to the men and introducing himself.

"We'll have to do an autopsy," The CSI continued "but I'd guess she was out here several hours before she was found."

"She'd have to have been." Rossi nodded. "All these boats coming and going? It's too high a risk to try dumping the body during the day. The unsub is fixated on getting the details right – they wouldn't risk getting caught."

"Look at that dress." J.J said, examining the victim's outfit. "Looks like some kind of Victorian costume."

"It's an Edwardian tea dress." Spencer corrected. "Though you're right. It _is_ a reproduction. It's almost Halloween, so the seasonal costume shops are open. Maybe we should look to see if any of them rented this out." He looked to J.J, who was staring at him with a strange look. "What?"

"You've been reading Avery's historical costuming books." J.J said flatly.

"Popular fashions can play an important part in the sociological and even political study of historical time periods." Spencer insisted. "For instance, did you know the dramatic difference in women's hemlines between the early 1900's to the 1930's was a direct response to the political upheaval of the time, and traditionally everything from the width of a man's tie to the number of buttons on his suit jacket was a reflection of the status of the economy?"

J.J simply shook her head in amused disbelief, walking away to join the team.

"I'm going to have CSI email photos of the scene to Garcia." Hotchner informed J.J as she rejoined him and Rossi "Have her run them against any missing persons filed in the last few days."

"Meanwhile, we should be looking at some of the local costume shops." J.J said, jamming her hands into her pockets. "Spence's got a lead."


	4. Poison Hemlock

"So we're down to one victim this time." Rossi said, leaning against the table in the police department's board room and staring at a bulletin board, upon which details of the cases were pinned. "Maybe our unsub's found a type?"

"In both cases the victims were redressed, but not in the same way." J.J tapped a pencil on the table top. "I mean, the victim in the boat was dressed in a period costume. Vasquez and Hope had regular street clothes."

"What about parties?" Derek asked. "This time of year – a whole lotta Halloween parties goin' on. What if the costumes were just a coincidence?"

"This guy's too neurotic for it to be a coincidence." Rossi said. "Every detail needs to be exact."

An officer knocked on the door and handed Hotch a piece of paper. The agent glanced at it.

"Toxicology report is back on Vasquez and Hope." Hotchner said, handing the report over to Reid.

"What were they poisoned with?" J.J asked.

" _Conium maculatum."_ Said Spencer. " Poison hemlock."

The team looked to one another.

"Well that's dramatic." Rossi said.

"This could explain a lot." Spencer looked to Hotch. "poison hemlock contains piperidine alkaloids, and the chemical structure that disrupts the workings of the central nervous system. Even in small amounts, ingestion is similar to that of curare: ascending muscular paralysis and eventual paralysis of the respiratory muscles, which is what ultimately leads to death."

"We know the murderer had to take their time." Rossi nodded "But there are no defensive wounds on the victims. No evidence of restraint."

"A common side effect of hemlock is that it paralyzes the muscles in the throat in a short period of time, rendering the victims voiceless." Spencer added.

"It's the staging that's important." Derek concluded. "The death is just an unfortunate side effect."

"Yeah, but where do you find poison hemlock?" J.J asked "I mean, outside of a Shakespearean play?"

"It's a lot more common than you might think." Spencer answered. "It was naturalized into North America and thrives in poorly drained soils like bogs, ditches... it's classified as invasive in 12 U.S. States."

Aaron Hotchner's phone rang. He looked at the ID screen, then answered it.

"Garcia, did you get the photos?" He asked, placing the phone into the center of the table.

"I did, Sir, and I gotta tell you, there are some _major_ bells ringing over here." The frustration in Garcia's voice was audible.

"What do you mean?" Hotchner asked.

"I mean something about this is _super_ familiar." Garcia said. "I recognize her. I mean, I don't recognize _her_ her. In fact, nobody recognizes her her – there have been no missing persons reports filed in the past three months fitting anyone of her description – but I have seen something like this before, and... ggrrrrhhh!" She growled in the frustration that comes with the phenomenon of having an answer on the tip of one's tongue and being unable to recall it. "I know it. I know I know it, I just... don't know why I know it, yet. But I will figure it out and then you will know it, too."

"Have you found any connections between Hope and Vasquez?" Hotchner asked.

"I'm still digging, but haven't found anything yet. I will let you know as soon as I do."

"Thanks, Garcia."

"You're welcome, Sir." There was a click on the line as the tech analyst ended the call.

"You know..." J.J began slowly after a moment. "When I was in college, one of my sorority sisters was into performance. She always had the best Halloween costumes." She looked around the room. "She "borrowed" them from the theatre department's costume room."

"So maybe our unsub isn't shopping around the costume stores." Rossi said.

"We need a list of any theatres in the area." Hotchner told J.J "We'll split up. We need to see if anyone in the costume department is making extra cash renting out costumes."


	5. The Masters of Northborough Manor

"It happens everywhere." Ada Bourne told Hotchner and Reid. Ada Bourne was a squat, impatient looking woman, and the head costumer at one of the larger local playhouses. "The problem is, it's not _supposed_ to."

"So you've got employees renting the costumes out without permission?" Hotchner clarified.

Ada scoffed. "Don't sound surprised." She picked up a pile of men's jackets and turned. The agents followed, down a flight of stairs and into a large underground room, packed wall to wall with rows of clothes racks, each jammed with costumes of all sizes, colors, and periods.

"We've got overworked, underpaid employees in every department in this theatre." The agents followed Ada through a maze of racks to a section seemingly devoted to men's black blazers, where she began to hang her bundles up. "Someone sees a chance to make some easy money renting some costumes out to some buddies, they take it. We've got so much stuff down here, half the time I don't know it's missing until it comes back ruined. _If_ it comes back."

"Have you ever seen a dress like this?" Spencer held out a photo of the dress worn by the victim in the boat for Bourne to see.

"I don't recognize it." Ada shook her head, taking the photo in her hand to get a better look at it. "Looks like one you'd see on "The Masters of Northborough Manor." Either of you watch it? Beautiful costuming."

"Thanks for your help." Hotchner thanked Ada, taking the photograph from her and slipping it into the breast pocket of his suit coat.

The agents exited the dungeon of costumes, leaving the theatre and stepping into the bright October sunlight just as Hotchner's phone rang.

"Garcia," Hotchner answered "You're on speaker. What have you got?"

"Oh, I've got Bingo and Gin and Yahtzee all rolled into one, Sir." The woman replied. "First, your girl in the boat is named Penny Wright. I know, beautiful name, right? Her parents could not have done better. Second, I know why she looked familiar. She was dressed just like a character on this show called -"

"The Masters of Northborough Manor." Hotchner finished, shooting Reid a meaningful look.

"I..." Garcia sounded deflated. "You're right. Do... do you watch it, sir?"

"No, a costumer at one of the local theatres just told us." Replied Hotchner.

"Oh. Well did she _also_ tell you that the dress is a pretty close copy of one worm by the character Regina Withersidge in the second season?" Penelope asked smugly. "Because it was."

"How close?" Spencer asked.

"Like, not exact, but definitely inspired by, and would pass for a solid cosplay. Especially," She answered "because Penny Wright looks an awful lot like Bridget King, the actress who plays Regina Withersidge on the show. By the way, didn't know you were there, Reid. That thing you asked for? Done."

Hotchner glanced to Reid, who merely stared at the phone.

"Anyway," Garcia continued. "I took that idea of cosplaying and ran with it. Turns out Vasquez and Hope also bore more than a little resemblance to two other actors. Not from "The Masters of Northborough Manor," but from a different show, "Ageless and Breathless."

"The soap opera?" Hotchner asked.

"Precisely." Said Garcia "Somebody's up on his daytime TV. I am going through episodes and forums and fan sites now with no luck, but I am willing to bet both Vasquez and Hope were dressed like the characters they resembled."

"Let us know when you get more." Hotchner said, ending the call. "We need to get back and share this with the team. I think we've got a profile."

The agent looked to the doctor. "What did you ask Garcia to do?"

Spencer shook his head, a look of unconvincing innocence on his face. "Nothing important. Let's go."


	6. Alternate Endings

"So we have an obsessive fan?" Derek theorized. "Neither of the shows are filmed anywhere near here, so maybe the victims were surrogates for the actors?"

"The degree of staging and the fact that the victims are dressed like the character would indicate the obsession is with the show itself, and not the actors." Rossi disagreed.

Hotchner's cell phone rang.

"Hotchner." He answered. He nodded, reaching for the laptop that sat closed on the table. "Sure, hang on."

Hanging up his phone, he opened the laptop, pressing a button and turning the screen to face the rest of the team. Garcia appeared, waving from the comfort of her office in Quantico.

"Hello, my lovlies!" She said. "I would have just called, but I wanted to see your reaction as you stand – or sit – in awe of my greatness."

"Do you have something?" Hotchner asked, standing behind the laptop.

"I do." Garcia responded. "My hunch about Juan Vasquez and Amelia Hope was right – they were dressed to resemble in clothing similar to an episode of "Ageless and Breathless" which aired a few months ago."

"So the killer is staging the scenes." Derek concluded.

"See, that's the weird part," Garcia interrupted him. "Neither of the crime scenes coincide with action from the episodes."

"What do you mean?" J.J asked.

"Okay, so "The Masters of Northborough Manor" is all about this really fancy British family at the turn of the 20th century. Regina Withersidge is the daughter who is engaged to marry a baron." She leaned toward the camera, speaking rapidly as though passing along some especially juicy gossip.

"She has this fling this other character – her best friend's husband's footman, who then gets killed along with his boss when the Titanic sinks, because his boss was on his way to America for business or something having to do with railroads or whatever."

"Penelope." Hotchner said tersely.

"Get this." Garcia finished. "The dress is from the scene where she and her best friend are having tea and the deaths of her friend's husband and footman are confirmed. Regina Withersidge cries in that scene, which is kind of a big deal because she's this really stoic British aristocrat, but it's not clear who she's crying for – her best friend's husband, who was also a childhood friend of her brother's, or the footman, who she had ended things with a while ago and had told her friend she hated, but you were never quite sure if she meant it. A few episodes later, she marries her fiance and becomes a baroness and continues to live a very wealthy British life with crumpets and cricket and all that other fancy aristocratic stuff."

"What about Vasquez and Hope?" J.J asked.

"Ah, yes." Penelope nodded. "They look like the characters Carlos and Emily who, on the show, used to be good friends, but had a falling out when Carlos started dating Ashleigh, who is mortal enemies with Emily because... well, as far as I can tell, because it's a soap opera. The girls just don't get along. Like, not at all. Constantly trying to ruin each others lives. The clothes were from an episode that takes place on Carlos' birthday – Emily isn't invited to the party, but shows up early to give him a gift, since you know, they're old friends. There's some question as to whether or not Emily is in fact attracted to Carlos, but that's it. She leaves before Ashleigh shows up. As of current episodes, all of the characters resembling our victims are healthy and, at least by TV drama standards, relatively happy."

"So our unsub _is_ obsessed with the shows," Derek said. "But isn't staging scenes from them."

"The whole thing got me thinking." Garcia said. "And brace yourselves, because this is the part where I reach Dr. Reid levels of clever. Both of the scenes were controversial when they aired – not politically or anything, but fan forums just went nuts over them – lots of people thinking they should have ended differently."

She paused for effect. "Your killer is staging alternate endings."

The team looked to one another, each duly impressed. Garcia smiled in self-satisfaction.

"Keep going over fan sites." Hotchner said. "See if you can find anything that might link to the staging we're seeing and then narrow it down by users in this geographical location."

"Will do, Sir." she replied.

"And Garcia," Hotchner added quickly before she hung up. "Excellent work."

Penelope Garcia beamed before the screen went blank.

Agent Aaron Hotchner looked around the room, turning the new information over in his head before announcing to the team "I think we're ready to deliver the profile."

"The victims all resemble characters from popular TV dramas." Hotchner explained to the room full of police officers. "We believe the killer chooses them because of this resemblance."

"We have reason to believe the killer may be a woman." J.J said "She uses a poison that paralyzes the victims and renders them unable to speak or cry out. Eventually, this poison causes death, and while that's not something she's overly concerned with, we don't think the killing is her compulsion."

"Rather, we think it's the staging." Rossi continued. "The amount of detail speaks to a fastidious, most likely obsessive personality. We're looking for someone who is extremely detail oriented, but may not be hyper-intelligent."

"The fact that she chooses her victims based on their similarity to television characters and goes to such great lengths to recreate scenes would indicate that she feels more at ease with the characters than she does with the people she encounters in her day to day life." Spencer finished. "She would seem antisocial, aloof, or even simply awkward and shy. Likely, she feels overlooked by the rest of the world, and disappearing into these shows gives her a sense of comfort and security."

"The costume Penny Wright was found in likely came from a local costumer or playhouse, so we need to followup with that, and be thorough. It's likely our killer has some connection in that community." Hotchner looked to the police officers, many of whom sat taking notes, others who simply listened intently. "Whatever has triggered her to act on these compulsions, she is likely unable to control it, so while she is not a malicious killer, it is imperative that we find her soon, because she will inevitably kill again."


	7. Fan Fiction

Spencer Reid paced in a remote corner of the police station, one hand jammed in his pocket as he spoke on the phone.

"Yeah... No, no, that's fine. Yeah, send it over." He said.

Derek approached, slowing his pace as he observed Reid's unusual body language. Spencer glanced up, seeing his teammate standing in front of him.

"I gotta go." He said quickly. "Thanks, Garcia."

He ended the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket and facing Morgan.

"What's goin' on?" Derek asked, looking concerned.

"Uh, nothing." Spencer shrugged. "Garcia's sending over episode details and some screen shots from some of the fan forums."

Morgan looked skeptical. He watched Reid for a moment, who swallowed uncomfortably, waiting for him to say something.

"A lead turned up on the dress Penny Wright was wearing." Derek said finally. "It's from a community theatre in town. The executive director just showed up, Hotch wants us to interview him."

The sunset filtered through the blinds in police station office, where a tall, graying man sat in a blue button up shirt. He stood when Morgan and Reid entered the room.

"Mr. Esposito," Morgan said, shaking his hand. "I'm agent Derek Morgan, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Thanks for coming down."

"No problem." Esposito said, taking his seat again as the agents joined him across the table. "One of the girls in the box office recognized the dress from a production of "Pygmalion" we did last spring."

"You know for sure it's the same dress?" Morgan asked.

"I had the costuming department search storage for it. It was missing. I showed the picture to the costumers – the one who designed it confirmed it's ours."

"Can you think of anyone at the theatre who may rent out costumes for Halloween? Possibly without the theatre's permission?" Spencer asked.

Esposito shook his head. "I'll be honest – the theatre is a registered charity, and as the executive director, I've got my hands full with other things. I'm not paying attention to whether or not costumes go missing when I'm worried about how we'll fund our programs."

"What kind of programs do you run?" Derek asked, making polite conversation.

"We partner with the adult care facility in town." Esposito elaborated. "We provide job training and a reasonable wage for at-risk adults."

"At risk?" Derek repeated.

"Adults with physical or mental disabilities that make them unable to live on their own or maintain traditional lifestyles." Spencer clarified.

Mr. Esposito nodded. "That's right. Many of the adults in the facility might not be able to succeed in traditional careers, but they're able to work. We're part of a program that teaches life skills and encourages independence."

"What kind of disabilities do the people you hire typically have?" Derek asked.

Esposito shrugged. "It runs the gamut. Some with genetic or developmental disorders. Some simply have delayed reasoning or cognitive skills that make it difficult to live without assistance, though they can still mostly care for themselves. Some can drive – some even have their own apartments that their para only visits regularly to help them pay bills, manage bank accounts, help them navigate health care or things like that."

"Well, we know our unsub has to have some degree of autonomy to operate." Derek said to Reid. "It's likely she'd live alone."

"Now wait." Esposito interrupted. "Just because someone doesn't think like you or I doesn't make them dangerous." His eyes flashed between the agents. "My staff are all hard workers and good people, and I won't let you pin this on one of them just because you think they're an easy target."

"No one is saying that," Spencer said calmly. "We have reason to believe the killer may not want to kill – they may not even be aware that they are."

"I've heard enough." Esposito rose. "I came down here to try to help, not to hand over a scapegoat so you wouldn't have to do your jobs."

Derek took a breath. "Well, that pissed him off."

"With the rate of incarceration of the mentally ill in prisons unequipped or unwilling to properly treat them, can you blame him?" Spencer replied.

Derek was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "You know I don't think a mental illness automatically makes someone dangerous." He said. "But someone suffering from delusions or extreme obsessive compulsive disorder, off their medication, would fit the profile."

Rossi and Hotchner stood outside the office, watching the interview with Mr. Esposito going on inside. Across the room, J.J sat on a phone call with local media, trying to control which details would and would not make the news updates on the case.

"So we know how our unsub chooses her victims," Hotchner said. "That doesn't help us get ahead of her."

"Well, "Ageless and Breathless" plays in the middle of the day." Rossi thought out loud. "The Masters of Northborough Manor" also has day time showings on two different BBC stations available in the U.S."

Hotchner sideglanced his fellow agent, who held up a small magazine for him to see.

"Picked up a copy of TV Guide." He explained.

The conversation was interrupted as Mr. Esposito stormed from the office, brushing past a pair of officers on his way out of the station. Before either agent could address the situation, Rossi's phone rang.

"Garcia," he answered "You found something."

"Oh boy, did I ever." The familiar voice on the other end of the line assured.

"Hang on, we'll get the team together." Rossi motioned to J.J, crossing the room and tapping on the class-fronted door of the office in which Morgan and Reid sat.

"Okay," David Rossi pressed the speaker button as the team assembled around the phone. "Go ahead."

"First, I have spent the day trawling the internet for any and everything related to those two episodes, and I offer up for your admiration: fan fiction."

"What is that?" Derek asked, his brow furrowed.

"Oh, my dear sweet love." Penelope said sympathetically "How is it you can be so beautiful and so not-of-my-world? Fan fiction, for those of you who didn't read choose-your-own-adventure books as a child, is the practice of re-writing pieces of fiction to suite your own ideas of how the story should go. And it's not limited to television shows. Movies, historical events... even our own David Rossi's works have been ficed."

"My books are educational." Rossi said incredulously.

"Imagination is not limited to the fictitious." Garcia replied simply. "Anyway, after a day of combing every fan fiction site I could find and reading I don't even know how many stories – some of which were surprisingly very good – I have found your authors. Two of them. Two different fandoms. One, the "Ageless and Breathless" fic, rewrites the birthday episode so that Ashleigh comes in early, shooting Emily (though I don't know where she gets the gun) who then confesses her love for Carlos and ends up dying in his embrace. The other, the Northborough Manor one, Regina is torn apart by grief over the death of her ex-lover and guilt about how she broke things off. In a fit of remorse, she takes a row boat and commits herself to the sea, never to be seen again."

"So the unsub is a fan of these stories." Hotchner said. "She would obsess. She'd read them over and over – Garcia, is there a way to narrow down who might have read these stories?"

"Easier than you might think, actually." Garcia replied. "Readers can 'dog-ear' their favorite stories. Of the people who dog-eared both stories, a handful are from Texas, only one is from the area. Sarah Miller. She grew up in foster care, but not the bad kind, thankfully – looks like she spent most of her life with the same foster family. Had some trouble in school, she was diagnosed with extreme OCD. Looks like her foster parents helped her control it with medications, but the condition severely limited her – she never graduated high school."

"Let me guess, she aged out of one system and into another." Rossi interjected.

"Correct. She has a caseworker through Broader Horizons – a group in the area that works to allow disabled adults to live independently. She's a janitor and part time usher for the Side Door Theatre."

"A janitor would have access to the costume rooms." Derek said.

"Everything fits." J.J agreed.

"Forward her address." Hochner told Garcia. He looked to the team. "Let's go pick her up."


	8. Sarah Miller

"Thanks for calling me in." Maria Richards was a tall, thin blonde, with big, brown eyes and light freckles. She reached out to shake the hand of the square-framed woman standing at the edge of the stage. The woman refused to take her hand, turning her head to the side and avoiding direct eye contact.

"I didn't catch your name." Maria tried again to make a good impression on the woman who, she assumed, worked for the director.

"Sarah." The woman responded. "The director is running late, but he wants you to have some tea while you wait."

Sarah Miller's apartment complex backed up against a swampy stream. The creeing sound of crickets rose from the tall grasses as the agents filed out of cars and into the building. Clumps of hemlock grew amidst the jumble of water and weeds.

The apartment was small and tidy, bearing the look of a place only seldomly visited by anyone other that its occupant. The team swept through, finding little else but precision organization.

"Nobody's here." Derek told agent Hotchner as the small force of police officers finished clearing the bedroom. J.J holstered her weapon, crossing the room to examine the contents of a small corner desk, upon which sat a computer.

"Alright, let's get to the theatre, see if she's there." Hotchner said.

"She is." Said J.J abruptly. "And we need to get over there right now." She straightened, turning so the others could see the computer screen, where an email account bearing an address from the theatre had been in contact with a woman by the name of Maria Richards about a private audition.

"It's a perfect way to screen and lure in victims." Rossi said in the car as it sped to the theatre. "Huge pool to choose from."

"Why didn't this show up, Garcia?" Hotchner asked irritably as he drove.

"Miller contacted Hope and Vasquez by phone." Garcia replied "And from two different numbers. Looks like one was her cell phone, the other from the theatre's in-house land line."

"We know she's not comfortable around other people – she probably switched to using email because it's less personal." Rossi speculated.

Roy Esposito walked down the hallway from his office toward the box office. He was used to late nights in the theatre, polishing grant requests and reading over progress reports. A noise caught his attention and he stopped mid-stride. Through a thick door to his left, it sounded as if someone was on the stage.

Slowly, he opened the door, which led to the lower level of catwalks backstage. Curtains and rigging blocked his view of what was happening on stage, but through the narrow gaps he saw movement of two figures. Quietly, he made his way down the metal staircase to the stage floor. As he walked around the black riser farthest upstage, he could see, toward the front, a familiar figure, standing awkwardly over a woman, who appeared to be having a seizure.

"Sarah?" Roy was shocked. The young woman jumped at the sound of his voice, looking up at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You shouldn't be here." She said, confusion and panic written on her face.


	9. How it Ends

"Sarah, what are you doing?" Roy asked again. He looked to the woman seizing on the floor. "What did you do to her?"

"You shouldn't be here." Sarah repeated. "You're not supposed to be here. You need to go."

"Sarah,"

"You need to GO!" The young woman raised a gun, leveling it at her employer. "This isn't right. This isn't right, this isn't how it happens." She muttered to herself, the stress swelling in her body while Roy Esposito stood helpless upstage.

"I see cars." Derek noted as the team neared the parking lot. Three cars were scattered around the dark lot. The large foyer was mostly dark, lit only by a few scattered overhead lights, indicating that somewhere in the building, someone was at work.

The wave of police officers agents flooded from the cars, swelling through the doors of the theatre and splitting up, sweeping hallways and rooms in teams.

Aaron Hotchner led Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, and a handful of police officers toward the theatre doors.

Over the empty seats in the house, the team could see Sarah Miller standing, downstage center, her back turned to them as she pointed something at a man standing upstage near the legs. The agents recognized the man as Roy Esposito, who stood with his hands raised, pleading with the disturbed woman.

"I defended you." Esposito said helplessly, heartbroken and confused. "I told those agents none of my employees would ever hurt someone. Why would you do this?"

"They got it wrong!" Sarah shouted. "They got it wrong – it's wrong! I need to make it right!"

"Sarah Miller, FBI" Hotchner said loudly as he and the rest of the small force streamed down the aisles of the playhouse. "Drop your weapon."

Sarah whirled around, desperation and horror written on her face as she found herself nearly surrounded.

"Go away!" She wailed.

"Sarah, we know you don't want to do this." Hotchner said calmly, walking up the steps at the edge of stage right, while J.J and Spencer followed suit on stage left.

"They did it wrong." She insisted. "They did it wrong and I need to fix it!"

"I know." Hotchner replied sincerely, his gun still poised. "I know, but look." He nodded to where Maria Richards lay, her body heaving in desperate attempts to breathe.

"She's dying, Sarah." Aaron Hotchner monitored the girl's response carefully. "She can't breathe."

Sarah looked down, guilt and horror battling the compulsions inside her, overwhelming her and making it difficult for her to think.

"You don't want her to die, Sarah." Hotchner insisted "You don't want to hurt anyone. That's not how it's supposed to go.

Sarah's breathing was shallow and rapid. She wailed again.

"Stop it!" She yelled. "Stop it, stop it, stop it! You're confusing me! I need to make it right!"

Her hand holding the gun lowered as she closed her eyes tightly, hitting the heel of her free palm against her forehead in frustration. The team wasted no time. J.J and Spencer quickly advanced, J.J twisting the gun from Sarah's hand in one quick motion while Spencer laced his arms behind Sarah's, restraining her and preventing her from further harming herself.

Sarah began screaming, trying to kick and break free, despite Spencer's calm, quiet affirmations that no one would hurt her and everything would be okay. Police officers flooded the stage, taking over and securing the scene.

Police hovered over Maria Richards, radioing to the EMTs in the ambulance waiting outside. A pair of officers aided Spencer in handcuffing and removing Sarah Miller from the scene and into a police car, while others escorted a shaken and heartbroken Ray Esposito from the stage.


	10. Pictures of Cats

Over the course of the next few days, the agents lost themselves in the flurry of activity, directing procedure and helping where they could. Once again, the haze of the post-case clean up settled over the team and life became a blur of final activities, finally slowing once more as they packed up and settled again into the BAU jet for the flight home.

Spencer and Rossi sat next to each other, Rossi holding the doctor's phone, watching something on the screen.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Derek asked casually, dropping his carry on in an open seat and sitting down.

"Pictures of cats." David Rossi deadpanned, handing the phone back to Spencer, who slipped it into his pocket and stood, retreating to the back of the cabin to the coffee machine.

Derek watched him before turning his attention to Rossi. He stared at the older man suspiciously.

"You know something." He said.

"How's Maria Richards?" Rossi asked innocently, skirting the subject.

Derek shook his head at the obvious aversion, looking out the window.

"She's off the ventilator." He answered. "They don't know what kind of lasting damage there'll be."

Derek sat quietly for a moment. "All that..." He said, more to himself than anyone else. "Just to get the ending she wanted."

Rossi glanced over to Hotchner, who sat across from the aisle from him and Derek. Hotchner studied a book in front of him, smirking.

"What?" David asked pointedly.

"Pictures of cats." Hotchner replied wryly.

"Do _you_ know something?" Rossi's eyes narrowed.

Hotchner didn't look up from his book. "I can guess." He said simply.

"Welcome back, weary heroes!" Penelope Garcia greeted the crew warmly as they entered through the glass doors of the bull pen to check in; the final step before being released back to the personal lives left so frequently neglected.

"There she is!" Derek scooped Garcia up in a friendly hug. "Thanks for all the help in the field, Baby Girl. Don't know what we'd do without you."

Spencer gathered up the last of his things, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and heading for the door.

"Reid, wait up!" Morgan hailed him. "J.J and I were thinking about getting a drink. You in?"

"Sorry, I can't," Spencer said, turning on his heel and walking backward as he talked to Derek, never breaking stride to the door. "I got a date."

"Bring Avery, too." Derek offered, but too late. Reid had already disappeared out the door. Derek shook his head, confused but not surprised by the young doctor. "How 'bout you, Garcia?"

"Uhh..." Penelope's eyes widened like a deer in the headlights. "No. No, I can't. I've also got a date - a thing! I have a thing. That is different than... Reid's thing. Which is with Avery, who we like." She yammered. "We like Avery, she's nice. We want to see more of her." She stopped talking abruptly as she registered the looks the rest of them gave her. "Okay, I'm going now. Goodnight." She tried again, knowing if she stayed any longer the looks would turn into questions, and she most certainly couldn't handle that. Turning quickly, she walked with conviction out of the room, leaving the rest of them to watch her go.


	11. Silent Films

"I'm glad you got back in time." Avery jammed her hands into her jacket pockets to shield them from the brisk October evening as she and Spencer strolled leisurely down the street.

"I wouldn't have missed it." Spencer said. Something in his tone caused Avery to quirk her head up, looking over at him curiously.

"Are you okay?" She asked. "You seem... I don't know..."

She had seen him after tough cases plenty of times. She knew the look of fatigue and his occasional distraction, but this seemed somehow different. Somehow more immediate.

"No – yeah." He said quickly. "I'm fine."

He brushed a curl away from the side of his face, jamming his hands into his pockets, then taking them out again, running his fingers along the strap of his messenger, suddenly very aware of the appendages at the ends of his arms and clueless as to what to do with them.

Avery noticed and, reaching out, laced her fingers around his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. The action, though simple, calmed the unsettled doctor.

Together they walked in comfortable silence, under the yellow lights of the old movie theater's glittering marquee.

"Baby Girl, _what_ are you doin'?"

Garcia jumped, startled at the sound of Derek Morgan's voice behind her in the small projection room of the second-play theater. She whirled around to find, not only Derek, but J.J standing in the doorway.

"What am I doing here? What are _you two_ doing here?" She hissed quietly. "You are not supposed to be here. You need to go. Go now." She pointed behind them to the door, trying in vain to shoo them from the room.

"Sorry, sorry." Derek said "Relax, Mama."

"we were worried." J.J tried to explain.

"No." Garcia snapped at him. "You weren't worried. You were nosy, and – how did you even know I was here, anyway?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Derekasked endearingly, but the woman would not be swayed.

"Did you profile me?" She asked indignantly. "Aren't there rules about using your powers for evil?"

"We followed you." J.J said.

"That is just as bad." Penelope said. "And, okay, now you know where I am, and nothing nefarious is happening, you can g-"

A noise from downstairs caught her attention and she looked to the small square window at the front of the projection room.

"Alright, we get it." Derek said. "We'll leave."

"No!" She hissed again, her voice a harsh whisper. "I... okay, you can stay, just... sit down and don't touch anything, and be quiet. I mean _quiet._ Not a word."

J.J and Derek exchanged skeptical and confused glances. Garcia returned to her puttering, making last minute adjustments to what looked like sensitive and baffling equipment. Derek nodded in the direction of the unoccupied, small, square window and, slowly, the agents crept over, just close enough to see through and down into the house.

Two figures ambled down the aisle. J.J looked to Derek.

"Is that Spencer and Avery?" She whispered softly.

"Oi!" Garcia's sever whisper caught their attention as she readied the equipment in front of the other window. "Shht!"

J.J and Derek huddled around their window.

J.J tilted her head, watching the two as the strolled together, and talked together, their hands intertwined. Avery said something J.J couldn't hear. Spencer smiled. His smile made J.J smile, the sense of happiness that comes with seeing a loved one happy filled her.

"They're a cute couple." She whispered, almost inaudibly.

"I can't believe we're the only ones here." Avery's voice echoed slightly off the walls of the empty movie theater.

"I know." Spencer agreed, one hand in his pocket and the other entwined with her fingers. "I mean, who wouldn't want to watch some of the greatest silent horror films in history back to back?"

"I thought the website said they were sold out."

"Well we are early."

"At least nobody's in our spot." Avery said, leading the way to a pair of seats two thirds back from the screen, directly in the center.

The faded seats were small and uncomfortable, especially for his tall frame, but Spencer smiled as Avery rested her head against his shoulder.

"Hmm." He said at length.

"What?"

"Did you know, exactly one year ago today, we were sitting in these same seats?"

"No." Avery corrected, nodding to the seat directly in front of her "You were sitting right there."

"But I moved." He countered.

"Because I asked you to." Avery recalled.

"Because you said this seat was better. "the visual and acoustic sweet spot."

"Nn." Avery acknowledged him faintly. "You glad you joined me back here?"

"Yeah," he looked at her lovingly. "I really am."

She smiled, giving his arm a squeeze. "Me, too."

The lights dimmed. Avery looked around, confused.

"What's going on?" She asked curiously, looking at her watch "Why are they starting?"

"I don't know." Spencer shook his head slightly, then nodded to the screen "Look."

The screen flashed, ticking down the seconds to the beginning of the film. Music began playing.

"That's..." Avery muttered quietly, trailing off as she recognized the melody as a late 19th century piece Spencer occasionally played on the piano called "Salut d'Amour".

"Shh." Spencer leaned his head toward her, his eyes on the screen.

A hallway came into focus on grainy black and white film.

"Is – is that the BAU?" Avery's brow furrowed, certain she recognized the railings in the background. Spencer smirked but didn't answer as a grainy black and white version of himself stepped into frame.

"What in the -" Avery laughed nervously, a smile spreading across her face.

The film Spencer waved, smiling, then moved his mouth, speaking unheard words. A black screen interrupted the scene, bordered in white swirls and the words

 _Hi, Avery._

The scene returned to Spencer, who jammed his hands into his pockets and started speaking again. As he did, the scene was interrupted, silent-film style, by the necessary words.

 _A year ago, a silent film brought us together. I'm hoping it will again._

 _I'm not always great with words...But that's okay..._

 _Because it's rude to talk in a theater, anyway._

Avery chuckled at the joke, clapping a hand over her mouth in disbelief. The film continued, the black and white Spencer speaking silently and with every ounce of sincerity, his words conveyed in white lettering.

 _So I'll just say this..._

 _The guy sitting next to you loves you like crazy, and has something to ask you._

The camera zoomed in to a closeup as Spencer mouthed three final, simple words.

 _Please say yes._

The film faded to a close. Avery sat staring at the screen, her breath caught in her throat, her hand over her mouth, almost afraid to look away.

"Avery Mitchell," Spencer said gently, shifting in his seat to face her as best he could.

Avery inhaled sharply at his voice and turned to meet his gaze, to find him holding up a white gold ring, studded with small diamonds, set with a cobalt blue sapphire, shining in the silver glow of the theater screen.

"Will you marry me?"

Avery's eyes shone. She said nothing for a tense moment, then peels of laughter she couldn't contain rose from deep within her. Laughter of nervousness. Laughter of excitement, and of surprise. She bit her lip sharply, afraid Spencer would misunderstand her reaction.

"Yes." she nodded, her face beaming.

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief, his face brightening in a hesitant smile, as though the tense moment he had been dreading had ended, and he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Shakily, he slid the ring onto her trembling finger, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him in a kiss. She held him tightly. He could feel her heart beating.

He pulled away. She wiped her eyes as he signaled to someone in the booth at the back of the theater. The still flickering movie was turned off and the ambient lights brightened. Spencer took Avery's hand, helping her to her feet as the door at the back opened. Penelope Garcia entered, her face bright, a tissue in her hand.

"Yes, yes? That was a yes, right? Because it was really hard to see from up there and I know you told me to just play the tape and not eavesdrop, but you're both smiling -" She interrupted herself to pull Avery into a tight hug "Oh, come here!"

Avery couldn't contain her laughter. Garcia released her from the hug, taking her hand to examine the ring.

"Garcia helped me out with everything." Spencer explained.

"Well, not just me." Penelope clarified. "And I promise I didn't tell anybody, Reid. I really, really didn't, they just -"

J.J and Morgan burst through the door. J.J trotted down the aisle, her arms wide as she swept a very surprised Reid up in a sisterly hug. She sniffled as she let him go.

"Spence, that was beautiful!" She wiped her eyes, grinning at Avery.

"Congratulations, Kid." Derek shook his hand.

Spencer looked stunned, but too happy to be upset with them.

"Are we late?" David Rossi's voice echoed down from the door, where he and Aaron Hotchner entered, carrying champagne flutes and a bottle of French imported.

"I knew you were in on this." Derek declared as Rossi and Hotchner meandered down the aisle to join them. "Where were you watching?"

"What watching?" Rossi chided indignantly. "We're gentleman, Derek, we weren't watching. We were, however, waiting in the lobby."

"You knew?" Avery asked.

"Do you think Reid planned this all on his own?" He retorted congenially, handing Avery a champagne glass.

"You're the reason the show's sold out." She said, taking the glass. Rossi only smile, opening the bottle of champagne with a loud pop.

Glasses were filled, handshakes received, hugs and well wishes given in abundance.

"Salut." Rossi said, raising his glass. The others followed suit, toasting the couple.

There was a moment of familiar silence after they drank. Avery and Spencer exchanged a knowing look.

"What now?" Derek asked. "Let's celebrate."

"Well, we have the theater, and there really is a silent film marathon tonight." Spencer said. Avery nodded.

The team looked to one another.

"You should stay!" Avery insisted emphatically. She shrugged, adding,"I mean, not all the title cards are in English, but that's okay, because Spence can translate."

Each member of the team seemed to suddenly remember their own lives, calling to them simultaneously. Another round of well-wishes and polite excuses found the couple standing alone in the theater once again.

Avery sighed, turning happily and walking back down the aisle with Spencer.

"The films are all translated tonight." Spencer said as they made their way back to their seats.

"I know." Avery said simply, her eyes dancing with a private joke.

Spencer smiled, wrapping his arm around his fiancee, who leaned into him in a gentle kiss.


	12. Epilogue

"You know what the colors remind me of?" Garcia said, taking Avery's hand and once again examining the ring.

"Hm?" Avery asked through another spoonful of celebratory mint chocolate chip ice cream from Garcia's kitchen.

"R2-D2." Penelope said decidedly.

"I would have said the TARDIS." Avery replied, motioning to the ring glittering on her finger with the empty spoon. "It's exactly TARDIS blue... and you know what?"

"What's that?"

"I am certain that was intentional." She grinned in satisfaction. Garcia laughed.

"You two are made for each other." She chuckled, reaching for the pint of mint ice cream in Avery's right hand.

Avery laughed, looking at the ring fondly, her heart full to bursting and daring to believe, even if it _was_ cliché, that they might be.


End file.
